


we don't cheat at all

by yeswayappianway



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 NHL All-Star Game, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Bets & Wagers, Casual Sex, Enemies to Friends, F/F, Rule 63, Women in the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22432420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/pseuds/yeswayappianway
Summary: Kris scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like half the women in the league, I’m not gonna let them touch my hair.”“Yeah, come on,” Horny agreed. “You think her and Giroux are going to have a sleepover? Giroux won’t even talk to her.”It was stupid, because Kris knew Horny was just backing her up, and it was true, but she still bristled. “Fuck you, she would if I tried.”
Relationships: Claude Giroux/Kris Letang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	we don't cheat at all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remiges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/gifts), [frecklebomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/gifts).

> this is dedicated to remi and frecklebomb, who both listened to me yell about how much i wanted to write this story and tried to help me figure out where it was going. thank you so much to reid and claire for doing an EXCELLENT job beta reading, i appreciate both of your help so much! i started writing this the first time in 2017, and then it went through several versions and several periods of me abandoning it for months at a time. now here we are!
> 
> i didn’t… think about the fact that women’s and men’s world championships are different. let’s pretend in this world they happen at the same time in the same places, or that it’s not gender segregated anymore, so sid and claude can still have their weird 2015 worlds bonding. this fic includes a lot of characters in small parts that i didn't tag- assume basically anyone from the metro team at that asg will show up along with a few other people, and several of the pens in the opening scene. also i do want to recognize that 'always a different sex' is a less than ideal name for this trope, but ao3 doesn't have a canonical tag for 'always a cis woman', and in my experience, this is one of the tags that people search through. if there's a better option, though, i'm certainly open to changing the tags!
> 
> title from I Don't Do Boys, by Elektra

“Do you all get together and… do each other’s hair and talk about how men are trash?” Olli asked as everyone trailed into the locker room after practice, in that way of his that always seemed to come out exactly halfway in between chirping and earnestness.

Kris scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even _like_ half the women in the league, I’m not gonna let them touch my hair.”

“Yeah, come on,” Horny agreed. “You think her and Giroux are going to have a sleepover? Giroux won’t even talk to her.”

It was stupid, because Kris knew Horny was just backing her up, and it _was_ true, but she still bristled. “Fuck you, she would if I tried.”

This time Geno was the one who scoffed. “You think Giroux talk to you? No way.”

Now Kris was starting to get annoyed, which was probably exactly what Geno wanted, but fuck him. “Why not? She talked plenty to Sid over the summer.”

Sid looked up sharply from across the locker room. “Leave me out of this,” he warned. But then, because Sid was incapable of not trying to get the last word, he added, “She does kind of hate you, though.”

Kris glared. “What do you know, anyway? Just because she turned you down doesn’t mean she hates the rest of us.” The minute it left her lips, Kris regretted it. It was a low blow, and judging by the reaction in the room, everyone knew it. She glanced over at Flower, who was grinning like the asshole he was, though, so at least she probably hadn’t fucked up too badly.

“Fuck off,” Sid muttered, bending down to retie his skates.

Because, as many people had told her, she didn’t know how to shut up, Kris kept talking. “Anyway, fine, you know what? I’m going to prove you all wrong,” she said, looking around the room, daring anyone to challenge her. Of all people, it was Phil who said something.

“What, you’re going to be best friends after one All-Star weekend? No way, bet you a hundred bucks she won’t talk to you for more than a minute—outside of an interview or the game, that doesn’t count,” he added when Kris opened her mouth.

Still leaning back in his stall lazily, Flower said, “I’ll take that bet. I think by the end of the weekend they’ll be texting about how much they hate playing against Washington.”

“I’m with Phil. And it has to be more than once,” Sid said, looking at Kris with a stony expression. 

She glared back, but made a mental note to make it up to him somehow, because it _had_ been a dick move to bring up his ridiculous crush. “Alright, so I have to talk to Giroux for more than a minute, outside of a game or an interview, more than once. Is that enough rules for everyone?”

“Good enough for me,” Phil said, shrugging.

Other guys started chiming in on one side or another, mostly betting against Kris. Looking at Phil, Kris said, “I’m not letting you all bet on me unless I get money out of it. I’m in.”

As Geno declared that—as the only other one who would actually be there—he would judge who won the bet, Kris wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

\-----

Kris would never tell anyone, but she’d done a genuine double-take when she saw Giroux on the carpet outside Bridgestone. She would have sworn Giroux hadn’t had that haircut when they’d played last week, but regardless, there it was. Even Kris had to admit it looked good on her; her curls curling around one side of her face emphasized her jaw and the overall effect made her look older, more mature. She’d lost sight of her after they walked through the gauntlet of fans waiting for them, but Kris spotted her again once they were inside. Horny’s words echoed in her ears—_“Giroux won’t even talk to her”_—and she sighed to herself. 

“Hey, Giroux!” Kris called out, hurrying up a few stairs to catch her. Giroux turned around, her short curls bouncing a little. At first, she looked confused, which quickly turned to guarded suspicion as she realized who’d said her name.

“Letang,” she acknowledged. At least she’d said something, Kris thought optimistically.

“Did you have a good trip here?” She quickly tried to remember if the Flyers had just played a game, but came up blank. She thought maybe they had, but decided she’d wait to see if Claude said anything.

“It wasn’t bad,” Giroux said, sounding suspicious. “Yours?”

Kris made a face. “There was a crying baby on the flight.”

“Oh, that sucks. Never fun.”

“Yeah. But other than that, it wasn’t too bad.” Before she could ask anything else, Giroux spoke up.

“Look, why are you talking to me? We don’t even like each other.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Kris was almost offended. 

“Geno wandered off to talk to Nealer, they’re having former liney bonding time or whatever, and I didn’t want to be walking all alone. Besides, it’s not like I hate you or anything,” she added, choosing to ignore the other half of “each other”.

Giroux raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? It’s not like you’ve ever bothered to talk to me before. And I get it, I’m not judging you or whatever. Just didn’t think I’d be your first choice, that's all.”

Kris shrugged. “At the very least, you speak French. That’s always a plus.” Giroux rolled her eyes, and Kris wanted to give her more than that. “And… it’s nice talking to another woman who’s playing in the league.” It was the truth, now that she’d said it. Usually Kris was just fine on her own or with the guys, but there was always a guard she had to keep up around them.

Expression softening, Giroux nodded. “Alright, fair enough. If you’re going to keep hanging around, though, call me Claude.” 

“Well, in that case, it’s only fair. You can call me Kris.” As they continued up the stairs, Kris evaluated the situation. Talking to Giroux, to _Claude_, had been easier than she expected, and so far, she hadn’t been horrible at all. Who knows, maybe she wouldn’t even have to try that hard to win the bet. Or maybe, Kris thought, shaking her head at herself, she should just enjoy the weekend.

\-----

If Kris had her way, she’d skip out on media day entirely. Unfortunately, she didn’t get her way, so instead she was wandering around, trying to look busy while also not letting anyone with an official-looking clipboard catch her eye. The All-Star Game always made Kris feel like she was under a microscope.

She spent a few minutes lurking in the corner with Geno, who said slyly, “Saw you talk with Giroux.”

Kris crossed her arms. “Sure did, so I think I’m already doing better than everyone expected.”

“Still need to talk to her again to win,” he shrugged.

“Worried you’re gonna lose?”

“No, just wondering what you talk about,” Geno was grinning.

Kris rolled her eyes. “None of your business.” It looked like Geno was about to respond, but someone called his name from one of the interview tables and he slunk away, looking distinctly gloomy at the thought of talking to people.

Left on her own again, Kris wandered aimlessly for a little bit before she spotted P.K., her brightly painted nails accenting her gestures as she talked animatedly to Bergeron, who mostly seemed to be nodding along, his expression polite. There were a lot of things Kris hated about the All-Star Game but at least some of the other women were always there.

She talked with them for a few minutes, but the problem with talking to P.K. and Patrice was that they weren’t trying to hide from the media. Not long after, Kris got dragged over to the waiting area by the media desk set up for interviews in French.

Patrice was doing his time when Claude walked over. Kris, half remembering the bet and half out of boredom, winked at her. She wasn’t certain, but it looked a bit like Claude might have blushed. Didn’t stop her from raising an eyebrow and saying, “Aren’t you supposed to be fashionable or something? Why’re you wearing old man shoes?”

Kris rolled her eyes. “You said I was the fashionable one, that means you admit I know better. They're in style.” Claude looked skeptical.

“Just because they’re ‘in style’ doesn’t mean they look good.”

“Hey, you don’t see me criticizing your outfit.”

Claude looked down at her clothes and back at Kris. She was wearing perfectly acceptable dark pants and the same All-Star sweatshirt they were all wearing, with dark, nondescript shoes. Okay, fine, so Kris had nothing to work with. Now that she was looking, it even seemed like Claude had done something with her hair, the curls falling sharply to one side, and her makeup was perfectly within the boundaries every woman in the NHL knew well. Not too prominent so that she could be accused of looking unprofessional, but plenty to keep the strain of a full season of exhausting hockey nowhere near visible. Kris could feel a familiar anger rising in her throat, and she sighed.

“Maybe I should have taken my cues from you. That way I’d have pockets,” she gestured at Claude’s firmly hands-in-pockets stance.

Claude grimaced. “Oh man, that’s the worst. Fake pockets?” Kris nodded. “Yeah, fuck that.” There was a strange hesitation, as if Claude was already regretting what she was about to say, but she added, “They look really good on you at least.”

_Oh_. Well, that was interesting. Maybe, Kris thought, flirting would take her mind off everything. She had forgotten how much the All-Star Game made her feel like— like a beauty pageant contestant or some shit, paraded around to shut up and look pretty, with not even the promise of body checking people afterwards.

Just then, she heard a quiet, “Kris Letang?” Kris grimaced.

“Try not to murder anyone,” Claude offered, looking sympathetic.

“No promises,” Kris muttered, and marched over to the older man who had called her name.

“Hello,” she said. He looked up from the list he was making notes on.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

What the fuck. “You just called for me. I assume I’m supposed to do an interview?”

He actually adjusted his glasses as if he wasn’t seeing her correctly. “You must be mistaken, the next person on our list is a Kris.”

“That would be me, Kris Letang,” she said icily. Fucking old men with their goddamn ancient ideas of who could have what names. Couldn’t they at least hire people who worked in hockey for this weekend? That would avoid this particular issue, even if it meant he probably would have tried to give her skating advice.

He looked surprised, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else. You’re over at table 3 there.” He pointed to one of the tables set up behind him, draped with the All-Star logo. Kris stalked off without a second glance.

\-----

Two hours later, Kris was definitely ready to murder someone. Preferably someone who was in charge of this circus, but she’d settle for anyone who looked at her wrong at this point. She knew it was naive to think that everyone was happy about women playing in the NHL, but it wasn’t new, and she had more than proved herself, she thought angrily. And yet, here she was, getting asked about how much of an honor it was to be a woman invited to the All-Star Game, and how much she was doing to grow the game. There was no way to win, and Kris wasn’t interested enough in playing the games to do more than repeat the same cliches she’d been using for most of her career.

Kris sighed. It was better to try and focus on something else. Like the fact that soon, she’d get to go out and drink and not have to answer any media questions for a full twelve hours. That was definitely a good thing to focus on, she thought, scanning the room for anyone to commiserate with. Geno was nowhere to be found, but she saw Karlsson sitting near another table crowded with reporters, and she figured she might as well join him. He was funny in an off-beat way, under the politeness. They didn’t talk long, because he was dragged off for some other interview, but at least it had wasted time. Karlsson waved goodbye almost apologetically as he left, and Kris was struck with the sudden observation that his hair was longer than hers. It left her chuckling, and that was how Claude found her.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Kris shook her head. “Nothing, really. How’s it going?”

“I haven’t punched anyone yet, so I think I’m exceeding expectations,” Claude said darkly. Kris was a little surprised, if she was honest. Claude wasn’t known as one of the more outspoken women, or particularly likely to get into fights. She wondered suddenly how much of that was PR spin, and what everyone else thought about her.

“Fucking tell me about it,” was all Kris said. 

Claude flopped into one of the chairs next to her, and Kris’s eyes caught for a moment on the breadth of Claude’s thighs, the way her pants stretched across them, and her mind wandered to how it would feel to perch on top of them. It was a new thought, but not a surprising one, particularly. Kris was the first to admit that she was easy for pretty women, especially when they were athletic, and Claude was really checking all those boxes right now. The only real surprise was how easily she had gone from thinking of Claude as nothing but a rival to finding her attractive.

“How come you’re over here by yourself?” Claude asked, and Kris shook herself out of her thoughts.

“Why, where else would I be?” Kris asked, genuinely confused. Kris's usual friends weren't here (as Flower insisted on reminding her by sending an excessive amount of pictures of him and Vero on a beach) and she wasn't exactly known for making friends on her own.

Claude shrugged. “Out in the center of attention somewhere. Not talking to me. One of those, anyway.”

Snorting, Kris said, “You’re thinking of someone else. I don’t like being in this kind of spotlight, and when it happens it’s usually because I’ve offended someone.”

“Uh huh,” Claude said, clearly skeptical. “That’s why you dress like you do, and post so much on Instagram, and never shut up on the ice.”

“That’s different!” Kris protested. “Besides, I never said I don’t like _attention_, I just prefer it more personal.”

Claude made a small noise like she was trying to clear her throat, and Kris thought she looked a little pink. Kris knew what she had said, and she hadn’t meant it suggestively, but she didn’t mind if that’s how Claude took it. That kind of reaction could lead somewhere interesting.

The more Kris let herself have that thought, the more appealing it sounded, honestly. It had been a while since the last time she hooked up, and it had definitely been a long time since she’d had sex with someone she didn’t have to explain her bruises to. Besides, it might even be nice just to talk to someone who really understood her life, the way she constantly had to watch her words and still ended up getting criticized, how out of touch she felt with both other women she talked to and her teammates. She gave Claude a thorough look.

Claude didn’t say anything, but Kris thought she saw more pink creeping up her cheeks. Before Kris could try to push anything further, someone called Claude’s name, and she startled. “See you around?” Kris asked, letting her voice get a little lower.

“Sure,” Claude said, giving her one last look before standing up and starting to push through the crowd.

\-----

Kris pushed the remnants of her dinner around on her plate. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to the standard hockey player dinner table talk, but something about it felt extra tedious tonight. Or maybe it was what it was lacking—usually she didn’t mind not having any other women eating dinner with her, because she was out with the team. This weekend, though, there were a handful of other women that she could have been talking to, and instead she was here at a table with Geno and Nealer and, weirdly enough, the entire All-Star contingent of the Washington Capitals, along with Erik Karlsson. She suspected Karlsson had tagged along with Backstrom, and Backstrom and Geno seemed to be relatively friendly.

Thank god Ovi wasn’t here this weekend. Kris didn’t hate him; she approved of anyone who so clearly didn’t give a fuck what the NHL media thought of them. But being around him was exhausting, and given that this whole weekend was one long exercise in performing for the cameras, she didn’t need any more emotional exhaustion on top of that.

“What about you?” Holtby asked. Kris had no idea what the topic of conversation was.

“Hm?” she answered.

“Where’s your favorite place in Europe?” Karlsson filled in. “Some of us aren’t very objective, we need the Canadian opinions.”

Kris shrugged. “Paris is nice,” she said, mostly just to say something. Geno snorted.

“Paris boring,” he declared. “Moscow better.”

“Moscow’s pretty good,” Backstrom agreed.

Geno looked surprised before he nodded. “Right, you play for Dynamo for lockout.”

Kuznetsov grinned. “Always following Ovi, even to Russia,” he teased. Backstrom just rolled his eyes.

The conversation went on, but Kris couldn’t have said anything about what happened in it. It was exactly like a hundred other dinners she’d had, and it felt hollow to her. She didn’t know why this time was different, but listening to everyone say the same things in ten different ways, order the same three varieties of drinks, with no one offering any real differences of opinion—if she had to sit here and listen to this, Kris was going to explode.

Everyone else seemed to be happily settled in for a night of drinking and talking, but Kris was antsy. She maybe could talk Geno into going dancing with her, but she didn’t want to deal with the worries of trying to dance without anyone noticing her, especially not with the NHL media all over Nashville, and when she didn’t know what bars wouldn’t kick her out for dancing with a woman. She was filled with the urge to go somewhere, to _do_ something.

Abruptly, Kris stood up. “I’m gonna head out,” she announced. Nealer pouted at her.

“But it’s so early,” he said.

She did feel a little bad about how much she was blowing Nealer off this weekend, but it felt so long since she’d spent time around him, and all the little things she’d gotten used to while he was on the Pens were grating on her now. “Sorry,” she said, half meaning it. “I’ll just have to come back some other time so you can show me around.” He perked up at that idea.

“Going somewhere?” Geno asked.

Kris shrugged. “Just back to the hotel for now. We’ll see.”

Geno looked like he was waiting on a punchline, but he didn’t say anything else. Holtby and Karlsson waved goodbye, and Backstrom nodded at her as she left.

What _was_ she going to do, Kris wondered as she made her way back. Her thoughts strayed to Claude, but she didn’t even know what Claude was doing right now, much less if she’d want to see Kris even if she wasn’t busy. It would probably be a bad idea to try and find her, Kris thought. It felt an awful lot like she was trying to convince herself.

\-----

When Kris showed up at Claude’s door she wasn’t sure sort of reception she’d get, but she definitely didn’t expect to see a young woman with a semi-professional looking blouse standing behind Claude. Claude looked surprised, but maybe—pleased?, to see her, and Kris stumbled over her words.

“Hi, uh, am I— am I interrupting something?” The young woman took a step back as Claude opened the door wider.

The other woman spoke up when Claude didn’t answer. “I’m Melissa, I do social media work for the Flyers. We were just figuring out when I could get some footage tomorrow. Actually,” her eyes lit up and Kris wanted to groan. “Would you mind if I get a picture of you two?”

She looked sincere and, despite her immediate reaction, Kris had mostly had good experiences with teams’ social media, so she nodded. “What are you going to say about it?”

Melissa was already holding up her phone and moving to get a better angle. “Putting the rivalry on hold, or something like that.” She looked like she was fiddling with something on the screen, so Kris looked over at Claude.

“Sorry to just show up unannounced.”

Claude shook her head slightly, but she looked wary. “No, it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Do you want to come in?”

Kris walked in. Melissa looked at her, and then back at Claude. “I think I’ve got pretty much everything I wanted. I’ll find you tomorrow before the game, do a few quick video interview questions—_don’t_ hide from the cameras,” she admonished, and Kris hid a grin behind her hand. Claude nodded along, looking unusually subdued. “Alright, then I’m out. Have a good night,” she said, and briskly walked out, closing the door behind her.

It was silent for a little while. Claude was still standing near the door, and Kris looked around for somewhere to sit. She settled on one of the chairs at a small table in what seemed to be the living area of the suite.

“So,” Claude started, running a hand through her hair. “Did you… have a nice dinner?” There was a pause, and then they both started laughing.

“God, I’m sorry,” Kris said once she’d calmed down a little. “I know I just showed up out of nowhere, I just… I was out with some of the guys, and I didn’t want to be there any longer, but I wasn’t ready to go back to my room yet.”

Claude came over and sat in the other chair. “I get that. Did you,” she hesitated. “Did you just get tired of being out, or were you tired of being with the guys?”

It was a good question, honestly, one that Kris couldn’t answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Both?”

“Anything in particular?” Claude asked. She was almost gentle, which threw Kris off more than if she’d been actively challenging.

Kris shook her head. “No, just not in the mood to sit and listen to a bunch of men talk.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you might be in the wrong profession, then,” Claude deadpanned.

It’s weird, because other people had made the exact same joke before and usually it pissed her off. But now, hearing it from Claude, looking at her and knowing that she did actually know what she was talking about, Kris laughed. “Oh, trust me, I know. But at least some of the time, I get to punch them.”

Claude grinned, showing the gap in her teeth. “There is always that.” Her smile turned mischievous and she said, “It’s always a good time when I get to punch Crosby.”

Kris shrugged. “I’d rather you punch him than have to listen to what some guys call him.” She’s never known if they forget that there’s a woman on the ice, or if that was an added bonus for them.

“Really?” Claude sounded genuinely curious, so Kris answered in turn.

“I mean, yeah? You punching Sid is just hockey. And I know he’ll punch back,” she said. “I’ve trained him pretty well at this point.”

Claude made a face. “Ugh, don’t say nice things about him.” They made eye contact, and they both started chuckling at the same time.

“I guess it’s pretty fucked up that saying someone will punch you is nice, isn’t it?” Kris managed through her laughter. Claude nodded, still grinning. She looked good like this, happy and comfortable, not putting on a show for anyone. 

“I’ll take it as long as it means he’s not trying to ask me out,” Claude shook her head.

Kris mock-gasped. “How could anyone possibly turn down a date with _Sidney Crosby_?” Just because Sid was one of her best friends didn’t mean she couldn’t laugh at the way people talked about him.

Rolling her eyes, Claude said drily, “Yeah, how could I?” She gave Kris a searching look. “Do they write articles about how _you_ must secretly be sleeping with him?”

Kris snorted. “Yeah, occasionally, when they get tired of accusing Flower of cheating on Vero with me.”

“You’d think people would make up their minds—we can’t be scary lesbians _and_ homewreckers sleeping with all our married teammates,” Claude smirked. “I mean, how would I find the time?”

God, it was nice to hear someone else say the things that Kris thought about so often. “I wish they’d just stick with scary lesbian, really. At least that’s accurate.”

“You’re not so scary,” Claude declared, and Kris almost objected—she worked hard to be scary, thank you very much—but Claude kept going. “Intimidatingly hot, maybe, but somehow I don’t think that’s what they mean.”

Kris leaned back slightly in her chair. “You think so?”

“What, am I not supposed to notice?” Claude said, but her cheeks were a little pink.

“Oh no, you were,” Kris said, delighted that Claude had approached it so directly. She expected to have to talk in circles until one of them finally said something that couldn’t be misconstrued. “Did you have any thoughts about what to do after you noticed?”

Claude looked back at her, raising one eyebrow. “Well, you’re the one who showed up in my room at night.” She turned away, and walked through the opening to the bedroom area. Kris followed, her pulse beating faster, and turned the corner to see Claude sitting on the edge of the bed. She was leaning back slightly, and still looking right at Kris. “What are you going to do about it?”

With no hesitation, Kris stalked directly over to Claude and climbed onto her lap, legs bracketing her waist. Claude was ready, lifting her hands to grip Kris’s thighs. Tangling her hands in thick orange curls, Kris leaned down and kissed her. Claude immediately opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. Kris could feel Claude’s legs tense under hers and she appreciated the obvious strength in them. 

Kris broke away from Claude to tug impatiently on her sweatshirt. “C’mon, take this off.” Claude pulled off the sweatshirt, and Kris had to laugh a little.

“Sports bra? Don’t tell me you were wearing that all day.”

“Why not? It’s comfy and it works,” Claude defended herself as she pulled the bra over her head as well. Kris cupped one breast with her hand, running her other hand up and down Claude’s side. Her skin was warm against Kris’s fingers.

Claude let Kris tip her back onto the bed. She squirmed a little as Kris’s suit jacket brushed against her nipples, and Kris grinned. “Do you want me to play with your tits, or do you just like how it looks, me fully dressed and you topless?” Claude narrowed her eyes in what might have been a glare, if she wasn’t arching up into Kris at the same time. Kris sat back up and pinched one of Claude’s nipples. “I don’t blame you, it looks hot.”

This time, Claude actually did glare. “Am I going to have to do all the work while you just sit there admiring yourself?”

Kris took her time looking Claude up and down, appreciating the flush crawling up her pale skin, the freckles dotting her shoulders, the impressive muscle that was easy to see now that she was out of her sweatshirt—it didn’t compare to Kris, but she didn’t need to, that wasn’t how Claude played, and there was something appealing in that. “Not just myself.”

Claude’s eyes were incredibly dark as she hooked a finger in one of the pockets of Kris’s suit jacket. “Take it off. Show off for me, if you want.”

Kris tried to grin, play it off as a joke, but the shudder that ran through her ruined any chance she had of that. It wasn’t hard to guess that she liked to be looked at, but she rarely got the chance to indulge it. It was even more appealing than usual, the idea of Claude seeing her and knowing exactly what she did to earn how her body looked. Still sitting on Claude’s thighs, she rolled her shoulders back, letting her open jacket slide down her arms. Claude hadn’t made a sound or moved an inch since telling her to strip, and she felt almost giddy with Claude’s full attention on her.

Deliberately, Kris pulled the bottom of her shirt out of the waistband of her pants, and began unbuttoning it from the top. When she had finished, she didn’t take it off, just let the shirt hang open, exposing only the middle of her bra. The white of the shirt made her skin look tanner, and the contrast with the red satin of her bra made it pop even more. Kris would be lying if she said she hadn’t hoped for this, worn this bra on purpose, and judging by Claude’s hungry expression it was working perfectly. When she stood back up, Claude twitched up slightly, as if missing the weight on her legs. Kris smirked and bent to slip off her shoes and socks, turning her back to Claude to give her a better view of her ass. She stood up again and looked back at Claude, who hadn’t moved, but who was licking her lips in a way that seemed almost unconscious.

Kris was suddenly impatient. She undid her pants and let them fall to the ground, and quickly pulled off her shirt. It seemed to have broken the tension slightly, because Claude whistled softly. “No wonder you laughed at my sports bra if you had that on all day,” she said, openly staring at Kris and her red satin underwear set.

“Take your pants off,” Kris said. She didn’t want to wait any longer. Claude obeyed, although she was smiling slightly as if laughing to herself in some private joke. Kris had a moment of thinking about how much she didn’t know about Claude, but she cleared that from her brain. It wasn’t the place. “I’m going to eat you out,” she decided. Claude made a choked noise and nodded fervently.

Kneeling down, Kris gently pushed Claude’s legs apart so she could scoot forward, breathing in the smell as she got closer. Kris goddamn loved doing this. She used one finger to stroke Claude through her underwear, which earned her a hard shiver and a “Fuck, hurry up.” Kris looked up and raised an eyebrow. Claude rolled her eyes back, and wiggled away just enough to shove her underwear down and then slip out of it entirely, leaving her completely bare for Kris.

Kris hooked her hands under Claude’s knees and pulled her slightly down the bed. Claude didn’t do anything to help, but she let herself be moved. Now that Claude was back where Kris wanted her, she knelt back down and got her face between Claude’s legs properly. Spreading her apart with her fingers, Kris licked a stripe directly over Claude’s clit.

“Jesus christ,” Claude started, and she didn’t stop talking as Kris kept at it. There was a lot of swearing when Kris first pushed a finger, and then the tip of her tongue, into Claude’s cunt, and Kris could feel her mouth and chin getting messier as Claude hissed her name. The way she shuddered against Kris’s mouth would have been satisfying on its own. The combination of that and Claude’s increasingly desperate words were enough that Kris could feel herself getting wetter. 

Claude’s legs pressed against her shoulders as Kris pulled back and took a minute to suck a mark onto Claude’s thigh. She had a layer of fine, light-colored hair covering her legs and something about the faint sensation of hair against Kris’s lips was unexpectedly endearing. Maybe it was how real it made Claude seem, maybe it was just Kris’s admiration for anyone who managed to buck the expectations of men, no matter in how small a way.

Satisfied with her work, Kris buried her face back in Claude’s cunt. Claude moaned, and Kris wondered if she could get her loud enough that someone in one of the next rooms would hear. It would be rude, and also Kris was too impatient for how much effort that would probably take, but the thought spurred her to slip two fingers into Claude. She could feel Claude clenching around her fingers, warm and soft, and abruptly, all Kris wanted was to make her come. She licked firmly over Claude’s clit, stroking her fingers slightly inside of her and keeping up a rhythm until Claude got even more tense.

“Kris, I’m—” Claude got out before she came, her legs tightening around Kris’s head. Kris didn’t draw her fingers back out until Claude’s legs slackened, and then she sat back on her heels. “Get up here,” Claude ordered breathlessly, and Kris was happy to oblige.

\-----

Kris looked up from getting dressed again when Claude came out of the bathroom.

“Heading out?” Claude asked, looking much more closed-off than she had a few minutes ago.

Kris nodded, standing up to step into her pants. “Yeah,” she said. “After all, I need to get some sleep. Wouldn’t want to be tired for the game tomorrow,” she joked. She was feeling much lighter than usual, and beyond that, Kris wanted to get rid of that face Claude was making. This had been… nice, and she found that she wanted to talk to Claude more this weekend, preferably without any lingering post-sex awkwardness.

Claude rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you’re going to have to do much, everyone knows there’s no defense in the All-Star Game.”

“Exactly, I get to just try and score,” Kris said cheerfully. For all her grumbling about the game, she was looking forward to it.

Claude smirked at her. “You were doing just fine scoring tonight.”

“Oh my god, that was terrible,” Kris groaned. She tried to hide her smile, but she didn’t think it worked. Kris blamed Flower for her soft spot for shitty puns.

“You love it,” Claude said it matter-of-factly. It was a throwaway comment, the kind of thing Kris might have said in the same scenario, but she couldn’t help but think, surprised, that it was kind of true. Kris shook her head anyway and finished pulling her clothes back on. Claude watched from across the room. “See you tomorrow?”

Kris paused. “I mean, yeah?” She waited for clarification, but none came. “Alright,” she said, taking another look back at Claude. “See you tomorrow, then.”

\-----

“I’m going to murder him,” Claude muttered. She was standing in front of Kris on the ice as they all milled around, waiting for the next event to start.

Looking around to make sure no one next to them was mic'd up, she said, “Who?”

“Fucking Pierre,” Claude hissed. “He can remember Crosby’s roommate at World Juniors, but he can’t remember not to treat me like a goddamn child.”

Kris made a face without thinking about it, and then took care to smooth her expression before it got caught on camera. She shifted slightly, putting them a little closer. “He’s the fucking worst,” she agreed, because it was true.

“Who’s the worst?” Seguin said, crashing into them from the side. Well, crashing into Claude mostly. Kris was just collateral damage.

She was about to lie, say, “No one,” and try to play it off, but Claude said, “Pierre,” with all the disdain Kris had heard her say “the Penguins” at another time.

Seguin grimaced. “Fucking Pierre,” he said, and Kris snorted. It was good to know they all had some things in common. Seguin brightened up then, though, and said, “Okay, but forget about him. We’re going out tonight, are you coming?” he asked Claude. “You’re invited, too,” he told Kris, earnestly. She’d always kind of avoided him, assuming he was more trouble than it was worth and probably an asshole to boot, but he seemed earnest now, and Claude was grinning fondly at him.

“Do you really want me to come out with you? Not afraid I’ll show you up again?” Claude challenged—and that was clearly what it was, a challenge.

Seguin didn’t back down. “Hell yeah, but don’t think you’re going to win this one, G,” he said. Just then, the announcer spoke up, and Claude moved toward the ice. Kris wasn’t competing in this event, so she drifted back toward the bench. Seguin followed her for a moment.

“Uh, obviously, if you have other plans, you don’t have to come with us,” he said, with more tact than she thought he had. “But if you want to, invitation’s open.”

Kris nodded at that, and Seguin took it for the dismissal it clearly was, skating over to… go flirt with Jagr, it looked like. More power to him, she supposed.

Kris watched idly as Tavares skated out for the accuracy event. It was nice to be able to just sit back and watch for a while, and she zoned out toward the end, startling back to awareness when someone called her name.

“Tanger! Babe!” P.K. said, and Kris had about five seconds to look behind her before P.K. was dragging her down onto her lap. Kris’s choices were to go with it, or fall over and probably send half the bench flying like a row of dominoes. She went with it.

“Hi, P.K.,” she said, and even she could hear the amusement in her voice. “How’s the All-Star Game treating you?”

Kris could feel P.K. shrug. “Can’t complain,” she said. “Although we never have much time to sightsee at these things, which would be fun.” And she wasn’t wrong. Kris had barely seen anywhere that wasn’t her hotel, a media room, or Bridgestone. They’d had a chance to walk down Broadway and see all the music bars, but it had been afternoon, so not exactly the ideal timing. She was about to say something to that effect when Geno slid onto the bench next to them.

“Good job, man,” P.K. said to him. Geno smiled and held out his hand for a fist-bump. P.K. obliged.

“You couldn’t have just hit the fourth one?” Kris said, and smirked when Geno pushed ineffectually at her shoulder.

“You try next time!” Geno grumbled. “Just jealous.”

“Damn, Tanger, you’re harsh,” P.K. said delightedly. 

Kris sniffed, feigning disgust. “I have high standards.” On the ice, the challenge relay had started. She probably should’ve been paying attention, she’d have to do part of it next, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care enough. It was much nicer to sit here and listen to P.K. laugh at Geno’s show of outrage. It was hard for Kris to let her guard down, ever, really, but just now she felt like maybe she’d managed it.

“Look,” Geno said, in a tone she both recognized and deeply distrusted. “New best friend!” He was pointing at the ice where Claude was skating over to take the next absurd challenge. Kris rolled her eyes, but P.K. perked up.

“What? Are you and G talking now?” she asked, sounding interested. Kris was glad she couldn’t see P.K.’s face.

“I talked to her a little yesterday, that’s all,” Kris glared at Geno. His shit-eating grin stretched across his whole face, which gave her a clue that maybe he wasn’t going to let this one go.

“Does this mean I can stop worrying about the two of you getting into a fight if you’re in the same room?” P.K. asked. Geno cackled.

Kris protested, “We’re not that bad!” and tried to ignore P.K.’s disbelieving laugh. Claude had finished her part in the relay and Kris watched as she pushed her hair out of her face and skated back toward the bench. When she looked away, Geno was giving her a knowing look.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

\-----

“Hey, Kris,” she heard in the locker room, and Kris turned to see Claude running a hand through her hair. She wasn’t quite making eye contact, but she said, “I heard Segs invite you out with us tonight. Want to come?”

Kris thought about it. If left alone, she’d probably go out with Geno again, but she saw him plenty during the rest of the season, and he might be drinking with the other Russians anyway. She didn’t know what P.K. was doing tonight, so— “Sure, why not? When are you going?”

Claude’s eyes were a little wide, like maybe she didn’t expect Kris to actually agree, but the corner of her mouth turned up, pleased. “Now? I’m going back to my room to change and then I’m meeting Segs and whoever else to figure out where we’re going. Here, I can give you my number and you can meet us then, or come find us wherever we end up.” Kris mutely opened up her phone to a new contact and handed it to Claude. Claude handed it back, and Kris had a moment of surreality looking at her new contact for “Claude Giroux”. She shook it off.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Kris said, and she could feel herself smiling a little too. It’d been a long time since she made plans with someone she didn’t work with or hadn’t known since she was a teenager, and it was a kind of excitement she’d almost forgotten about.

After she got out of her gear and went back to the hotel, it didn’t take her long to change into clothes suitable for going out. She shot a text to Geno that she was ditching him tonight, and then texted Claude a quick, _hey, its kris_. Kris wondered what she was getting herself into. It was a bunch of hockey players, so it wasn’t like she was expecting anything unusual, but she didn’t think she would be particularly familiar with anyone. If Seguin was going to be there, she’d guess Benn would be too, and probably a lot of the other Team Canada guys.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Kris stared at her makeup bag. She had a love-hate relationship with makeup in general, but as she debated, she thought about last night and imagined leaving lipstick prints on Claude’s neck. It made up her mind for her.

Her phone buzzed on the sink as she was applying her eyeliner. _getting ready 2 head out_, it said.

Kris texted Claude back one-handed. _almost ready. meet you downstairs ?_

She got back a thumbs up. _By the end of the weekend they’ll be texting_, she remembered Flower saying, and it jolted through her. The bet. Somehow, she’d forgotten about it since yesterday. Well, she was definitely winning it, she thought, ignoring the sour feeling in her stomach at the thought of Claude finding out. Kris capped the eyeliner and carefully put on her darkest red lipstick. She eyed her reflection in the mirror and decided it was good enough. Putting the finishing touches on, she glanced down at her phone. There were no new messages, and Kris wondered what she was expecting.

The elevator was slow, and Kris wished it would go faster as she headed down to the lobby. Suddenly, she had more energy than she knew what to do with, a nervous thrum in her whole body. She wished she were playing a game so she could hit someone.

Claude was waiting outside the elevator, and her eyes visibly darkened when she saw Kris stepping out of it. “Ready?” was all she asked.

“Of course,” Kris answered and preened a little at the attention. “Where are we going?”

The ride to the bar was short, in contrast to the elevator. The nervous energy hadn’t left her, but Kris’s gaze kept catching on little corners of Claude—her collarbones exposed by the open top buttons of her shirt, her watch glinting around her wrist, the soft curl of her hair. Kris wanted to run her fingers through it. She abruptly wondered if agreeing to go out was a mistake if she was going to be this focused on Claude the whole time.

Kris didn’t have long to wonder, because they were at their destination. They headed into the bar, the kind of place that seemed almost too country to be real, but there was a group of hockey players ensconced in a back room, and there was food and beer, and it wasn’t long until Kris was settled into the familiar routine, even surrounded by unfamiliar people. Hockey players were all alike.

Seguin was clearly already well on his way to drunk, but Kris was pleasantly surprised to note that he seemed to be a friendly drunk, content to lean heavily on Benn and happily comment on everyone who showed up. Patrice was also there, steadily holding court at the corner of the large table some of them had settled around. P.K. blazed through at one point, Stamkos trailing behind her as she greeted everyone and tried to convince them all to come try line-dancing.

Honestly, Kris hadn’t been sure what to expect from Claude. She knew, via social media and Sid’s embarrassing obsession, that Claude had partied plenty hard before, and Kris didn’t judge her for it. In fact, it’d always been something she’d begrudgingly admired, that Claude managed to shake off the world’s judgement enough to do what she wanted, even if the whole frat bro aesthetic had made Kris wrinkle her nose at a lot of the pictures she’d seen.

Claude wasn’t doing that tonight, though. Instead, she stayed next to Kris at the table as they ate, and she seemed like she’d be content to sit there, a warm presence next to Kris, as long as Kris wanted.

Kris wanted something else.

“Do you think they kick people out if you dance anything other than whatever the fuck that is?” Kris asked, waving a dismissive hand at the mess of people out in the main room trying to follow a dance that clearly eighty percent of them had no idea how to do.

Patrice said, “I’m sure they don’t care as long as you’re buying drinks,” and Seguin brightened up. “Do you need someone to dance with?” he asked, his eyes very wide and very excited. Kris was a little endeared despite herself, but Claude spoke up before she could answer.

“You don’t need to pry yourself away from Jamie,” she said, amused. “I’ll go.”

“Yeah?” Kris asked, and she didn’t really hear Seguin protesting because Claude was giving her a very thorough once over.

Claude grinned. She was wearing her fake tooth, and her smile was nice with it, but Kris almost wanted her to take it back out anyway. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for nice. “Let’s go,” Claude said, and turned to head out to the dance floor.

Kris shamelessly watched her ass and then followed her.

At first, Claude tried to make her dance along to the terrible country music. Kris shook her head, and resisted Claude’s efforts, but then the music changed, became something much more suitable for clubbing, and the lights got even dimmer. This was what she’d wanted, Kris thought. She didn’t dance very often, wasn’t particularly good at it, but the pulse of the music echoed through her in a way that was instinctively satisfying.

Claude let Kris pull her in, and then they were dancing together. It felt good, and Kris let herself get lost. Claude seemed to be having a good time too, her eyes dark and her skin warm where it touched Kris’s.

Kris didn’t know how long they danced, but finally, Claude turned in her arms and leaned in so her mouth was right next to Kris’s ear. Kris could feel the words as she asked, “Want to go back to my room?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Kris murmured back.

\-----

“Why did you even decide to talk to me, anyway? And don’t give me that bullshit about not having anyone else,” Claude asked, afterwards. She wasn’t looking at Kris, just staring up at the ceiling. Kris sat up, abandoning her attempt to leave a mark on Claude’s neck.

“I—” Kris swallowed. She wasn’t sure how to say it, now. Now that she’d spent most of two nights with Claude and seen her naked and talked to her about how fucking infuriating the NHL was. It seemed wrong to lie, but Kris also had a horrible sinking sensation in her stomach at the thought of telling Claude it had been because of a bet. Fuck, how had she fucked this up so quickly?

Claude didn’t say anything, but her face—changed. Locked down, maybe, got her looking more like what Kris was used to seeing on the ice. Kris didn’t want that. Not here, not now.

“It was a bet,” she said, not taking her eyes off Claude’s face. “Phil bet that you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Was that all he bet?” Claude asked, her voice flat.

“What? Yeah, everyone else picked sides, but yeah, that was the whole bet. If you’d talk to me outside of the game.”

Finally, Claude sat up, and while her face was still stony, her eyes were practically on fire. “So why the fuck are you still here?”

Kris had no idea what to say. “What—why wouldn’t I still be here?”

“You won your damn bet, now you get to go tell your whole shitty team what I’m like in bed. That’s how it goes, right?”

“What the fuck, Claude?” Kris bit out. “When did I _ever_ give you that idea? Where the hell did this come from?”

Claude kept talking, and it was like she hadn’t heard a word Kris had said. “Everyone warned me about something like this but I never thought— God, I should have fucking known. I promised myself I would never do this, but—nevermind. Should have slept with Crosby, at least he actually liked me.”

Kris was shaking her head so hard she thought it might fall off. “Claude, I promise, I only slept with you because I wanted to. I would never tell my team anything you didn’t want them to know, and if I ever find out someone did that to you, I might murder them. Are you even listening?” she demanded.

Claude didn’t answer.

“Fine!” Kris snarled, and grabbed her phone. She texted Geno, _its off. no bet. phil wins._, and shoved it in Claude’s face. “Does that help you?”

Kris thought that Claude might grab the phone and throw it, because she seemed to be struggling to keep herself in check, but then Kris saw the moment when Claude read the message. And read it again. “But…” she said, and then her eyebrows went up.

“What now?” Kris asked, bitterly. Claude turned the phone back to her.

Geno had responded. _why????? seem happy about her_

Kris snorted. “Guess I have to tell him it doesn’t matter what I seemed, since you apparently didn’t believe any of it.”

“Did you tell him you were happy with me?” Claude asked, but it wasn’t the fire of a minute ago. She seemed… vulnerable, and her voice was brittle.

Kris tried to swallow her anger. “No, Geno just knows me—I’ve been ditching everyone all weekend to see you, asshole. I’ve been having a great time.” She barely managed to keep herself from adding “until now,” but she could see that Claude was having some sort of realization. Kris waited a moment to see if she would get a response, but all she got was Claude, seemingly unconsciously, silently moving her mouth to form words Kris couldn’t catch. “Why did you all of a sudden decide I was faking it? Do you really think I’d spend this long on something I didn’t like?”

Claude laughed, but it sounded less like amusement and more like a release of nervous tension. “Jesus, way to make a girl feel special.”

Kris rolled her eyes, but she thought she saw an opening. “You want me to make you feel special? Okay, fine.” Kris took a deep breath, and said, “Your shift? Against us in the playoffs?” She knew she didn’t need to say more, knew Claude knew exactly what she was talking about because god knows the Philly fans had never given up on it. “That’s my favorite minute of hockey I’ve ever seen. A woman, playing like that? And not even someone that everybody expects to be, you know, big and mean or whatever...” Kris trailed off as the anger fully slipped off Claude’s face and was replaced with pride.

Claude said, “I’m really fucking glad to hear that from you, since you’re the kind of girl who’s usually dishing out those hits. It means a lot.” There was no doubting the sincerity in Claude’s voice. She looked away from Kris and took a deep breath. Then she said, in something more like her usual tone, “Also that it’s good enough to overcome your team loyalty.”

“Hey now, slow down, it’s taken me four years to say it, I don’t think you should be questioning my loyalties here.” The outrage in Kris’s voice wasn’t exactly fake, but she was grinning as she said it. She didn’t know exactly how she avoided the disaster that had seemed inevitable just a minute ago, but she was fucking glad she had, and if this was all it took then it was more than worth it.

Claude widened her eyes innocently—“Wait, could you just say it one more time?”—and exaggeratedly snuck a hand over to her phone on the bedside table. Kris tackled her back to the bed, and they were both laughing now.

They wrestled over the phone for a minute, Claude elbowing her in the stomach and Kris retaliating by pulling at her hair. Kris didn’t try too hard to actually get the phone, though, mostly just enjoying the feel of Claude’s body against her and being able to let go of all her normal carefully-constructed rules about how she could and couldn’t touch her teammates. Finally, Kris rolled away and flopped onto the bed alongside Claude.

“Do you wanna just stay here tonight?” Claude asked, so off-handedly that Kris was certain it was an act. She got the impulse though.

“Sure,” she said, equally as nonchalant. “As long as you don’t mind me borrowing your clothes to sleep in. I don’t feel like going back to my room now.”

Claude leered exaggeratedly. “What, you don’t sleep naked?”

Kris rolled her eyes and didn’t justify that with a response. She ducked into the bathroom, and stole some mouthwash out of what she assumed was Claude’s bag. It would have to do for now. She rummaged through the bag a little further, stopping when she came across a package of makeup wipes. Kris didn’t really want to deal with her makeup, but she knew she would hate it a lot more in the morning if she didn’t. It didn’t take her long to get most of it off, and she dropped the now-colorful wipe into the trash can.

Coming back into the bedroom, she stopped to admire Claude’s ass as she bent over her suitcase, digging around for something and then straightening up triumphantly.

“Here you go,” Claude said brightly, throwing the clothes at her head and laughing when Kris managed to grab the shirt, but failed to stop the shorts from hitting her square in the face. Kris pulled them on anyway, just a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. She rolled the waistband over twice and then padded over to the bed. Claude was watching her with a strange expression on her face.

“What?” Kris asked after a moment of silence. Claude was still giving her that look, and Kris still couldn’t tell what it was. She had figured they were on the same page, not that she’d bothered to figure out what that page was, but this seemed different somehow.

Claude shook her head. “Nothing, sorry, you just look different like this.”

“Excuse me?” Kris said blankly. “You’re not one of the men, you know what makeup is.”

“Huh?” said Claude. “Oh, no, I actually didn’t—I mean the clothes.” She shrugged.

Kris looked down at herself. She’d heard comments like this from oblivious teammates, but she assumed Claude didn’t mean any of the crap she’s gotten about looking “softer,” whatever that meant. “What, because they’re yours?” she tried.

“No!” Claude said, obviously frustrated. “No, you actually look like a jock for once. I’m so used to seeing you all—“ she waved her hand vaguely in Kris’s direction, “polished and dressed up. I always felt like you were two different people, the one on the ice who hits harder than half the guys I play with, and then the one off the ice that looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. It’s, uh…” Claude stopped, swallowing heavily. Kris thought maybe she hadn’t meant to make such a speech about it. Claude continued, her voice a little rough. “It’s good. It’s a good look.”

Kris smiled a little, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “This is what I wear at home usually.” Now that she understood what Claude had been saying, she felt like she deserved a little more explanation. “I don’t like letting—I hate when the guys talk about me like I’m ‘just one of the boys.’ I know what they mean, but I’m not. So, the best way I’ve found to stop that is to not look like one of the boys. If I always look like a woman—” Kris grimaced. “Uh, not that you don’t, or that there’s just one way—“

Claude interrupted her backpedaling. “No, I get it. Look as feminine as possible all the time so they can’t forget. Isn’t that fucking exhausting?”

It was, actually, and Kris couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually realized that. “Yeah,” was all she could say.

Seemingly deciding that it was time to break the tension again, Claude grinned suddenly. “Here,” she said, grabbing something off the floor and gently tossing it to Kris—not even at her face this time. Kris caught it easily. “You need to complete the look,” Claude said mischievously.

It was a plain white baseball cap. Kris smirked. Pushing most of her hair back but letting some of the front fall into her face, she settled the cap backwards on her head, and looked over at Claude, whose eyes had gone very dark all of a sudden. “You like the asshole jock look?” she teased.

Claude shrugged, not taking her eyes off Kris. “I’m a simple girl.”

“You gonna do something about it?” Kris challenged. She thought Claude might laugh or roll her eyes at her, but instead she walked around the bed to stand in front of Kris.

“Get on the bed,” Claude said. Kris considered ignoring her—following directions wasn’t exactly her thing—but the look in Claude’s eyes convinced her that she could probably expect a good result if she went along with Claude’s plan. She got on the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Claude put her hands on Kris’s shoulders and pushed back firmly. Kris leaned back and then let herself fall, the hat skewing awkwardly on her head. Claude didn’t follow her down immediately, but instead worked the borrowed shorts and Kris’s underwear down her legs. Once she’d done that, Claude settled herself between Kris’s legs. Kris propped herself up on her elbows, wanting to look at Claude.

Claude popped two fingers in her own mouth and Kris could hear her sucking on them loudly enough that it had to be on purpose. Her breath caught in her throat as Claude reached down and gently rubbed one finger around Kris’s cunt. She was still wet, and Claude didn’t waste much time in sliding one finger in, slowly. God, it felt good.

“Good?” Claude asked.

“Fuck, yes, it’s great.”

Claude smiled and pulled her finger back out only to work in two. She spent a little time slowly rubbing them inside Kris, which made Kris squirm a little. “God, I’d love to fuck you properly,” Claude said, a little breathless.

The idea caught fire in Kris’s stomach, curling and making her want to fuck down on Claude’s fingers. “Maybe next time,” she said.

Claude’s fingers stilled and she stared down at Kris. “Next— Did you—”

Kris wanted to hide her face, but she didn’t do that, as a rule, so she just looked back steadily at Claude.

“Alright,” Claude said, even more breathless than before, and added a third finger. The stretch was delicious, and Kris rocked her hips toward Claude.

“Come on, fuck me,” Kris was impatient, but she had no reason to believe Claude wouldn’t be right there with her. Claude obliged.

It didn’t take long for Kris to get close, but Claude was just fucking her with her fingers. “I want—” Kris started, and Claude lightly rubbed her clit with her other hand. A shudder ran through Kris’s body, but that… it wasn’t exactly what she wanted. “No, come here,” she said. Claude looked a little confused, but Kris didn’t think she could make words work for her right now. She propped herself further up on one hand, and reached out for Claude with the other, pulling her in for a kiss and leaning back so that Claude was practically laying on top of her.

Claude caught up quickly, kissing her fervently. That was it, that was what Kris had been missing. It had barely been two days, but something about Claude’s mouth already felt familiar. Kris slipped her own hand between them, too impatient to wait for anything else. Claude was still fucking her fingers in and out of her, and the combination of sensations was just this side of overwhelming. There was nothing else to focus on, Claude’s lips and tongue against hers, her fingers inside her, and within seconds, Kris was coming. Claude kissed her through it.

“Fuck,” Kris breathed.

“Like you said,” Claude murmured, pulling back to look at her. “Maybe next time.”

\-----

When Kris woke up, it was still relatively early. Warm light was poking through the slight gap in the curtains, illuminating a strip of the floor on the other side of the room. She grabbed unthinkingly for her phone on the bedside table but didn’t find it, which made her remember where she was.

Claude was still asleep. She wasn’t exactly snoring, just breathing heavily. Kris looked at her, curled on her side facing away from Kris. She wondered what Claude’s hair would look like in the early morning sunlight: would it wash out some of the orange, or would it catch the color and make it even brighter? Kris thought of Claude saying, “Next time,” and wondered if she’d ever get to find out.

Kris was passing time on her phone, scrolling through Instagram, when she heard a soft groan. “Morning,” she said, as bright and cheerful as she could manage. Claude buried her head in the pillow.

After a minute, Claude lifted her head and looked at Kris. Her voice was foggy with sleep when she said, “You’re still here.” Kris couldn’t tell if she was surprised.

“Yep.”

“Huh,” Claude said, and then flopped back into the pillow. Kris snorted.

“We do have to get up and play a hockey game at some point today, you know,” she pointed out, amused. Claude flipped her off without looking up. Kris went back to scrolling on her phone, and after a few minutes, Claude gave a heavy sigh and then sat up. She squinted over at Kris’s phone and then reached for her own. “Anything exciting?” Kris asked.

“Nah,” Claude said, tossing it onto the pile of her clothes next to the bed. “C’mere.”

Everything about this morning so far had been easy and comfortable, so she went with it. Claude pulled Kris’s head into her lap, and Kris curled up a little to position herself a little better. She didn’t know what Claude was getting out of this. She was perfectly happy to lay there and let Claude play with her hair, regardless. Kris didn’t feel the need to put up any of her usual defenses and she didn’t know if it was that Claude was another woman in the NHL or if it was something about Claude in particular, or even just something about how Kris herself was feeling right now; whatever it was, she wanted to luxuriate in this feeling, in being able to forget about how the world saw her and just exist. Maybe Claude felt the same way.

“Are you flying out tonight?” Claude asked.

Kris nodded. “Yeah, this evening. I have to be back pretty early tomorrow.” She’d also wanted to spend as little time at the All-Star weekend as possible when she’d planned this, but now… It was what it was.

Claude’s mouth turned down a little at the corners. “Got it. I kind of wish you were here another night,” she admitted, not quite meeting Kris’s eyes.

“Hey,” Kris said. She tilted her head up to catch Claude’s gaze. “We do play each other three more times this season.”

“Not for over a month,” Claude said without hesitation. It was reassuring and off-putting all at once. Kris was glad the Pens weren’t the only ones who kept obsessive track of when they were playing each other, but it also brought back the reality that they were going to play each other while they fought for a playoff spot, most likely. What would it be like to play against Claude when she knew her like this?

Well. No sense getting ahead of herself. “Something to look forward to, then.” Kris licked her lips deliberately and watched with satisfaction as Claude leaned in slightly.

“Yeah,” Claude murmured. She ran a finger over a tattoo on Kris’s shoulder and traced her own line along Kris’s collarbone and then down between her breasts. “We don’t need to be anywhere for a while, you know.”

Kris stretched a little, feeling Claude warm under her. “Is that so? We should do something with all that time then.”

\-----

It was pretty nice to be done with the All-Star weekend after one game. Kris got to score, they didn’t embarrass themselves, she didn’t get hurt, and because they were the first team out they didn’t even have to do much more media.

The whole Metropolitan team was milling around on the ice, waiting for pictures and letting things get reset around them when Kris noticed Geno talking to Claude. Her first instinct was to go interrupt, but they didn’t seem angry. It actually looked like they were having a relatively civil conversation, which made Kris wonder, mostly jokingly, if she was dreaming. Whatever the reason was, Claude reached out her hand, and Geno shook it before skating over toward Kris.

“Talked to Giroux,” he announced when he got closer.

“I noticed,” Kris said cautiously.

“She told me bet back on,” Geno said, badly restraining a smile.

“What?” Kris didn’t understand what she was hearing.

Geno stopped trying to hide his grin. “She say, bet back on—as long as you split win with her.”

Kris stared. And then she moved slightly to look at where Claude had been. When they made eye contact, Claude grinned and winked at her. Kris shook her head, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face either.

Geno made a face, but threw an arm over her shoulder. “So, I’m guess you win?”

“You’re judging this shit, aren’t you?” Kris teased. “What do you think?”

“I’m think you owe Giroux a lot of money,” he said in a voice that was probably supposed to sound like a warning but mostly just sounded gleeful.

Kris could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> the alternate title of this fic was 'style and class' which is from a different part of I Don't Do Boys, because what sums up this story better than the contrast of "I don't do boys, I just do girls/Just do girls with style and class/I don't do boys, I just do girls/Just do girls with kissable ass". speaking of which, here's the playlist i listened to most while writing this: [gals by gayathritsri](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5dtZepziTAExehr03QKsNb)
> 
> here are some links for visual reference of things that happened in this fic and also in real life (you know, minus the always-a-cis-woman part):  
[tyler seguin <strike>flirting with jagr</strike> petting jagr's hair](https://www.sbnation.com/nhl/2016/1/30/10877890/tyler-seguin-couldnt-resist-petting-jaromir-jagrs-hair-at-the-nhl-all)  
[tanger sitting on P.K.'s lap](https://magikorpi.tumblr.com/post/174994012146)  
[The Snapchat that's been making me scream about this pairing for four years](https://magikorpi.tumblr.com/post/170481497181/enter-remiges)
> 
> if you want to hear more random facts about this AU, feel free to ask!


End file.
